Vengeance
by Vladimir Popov
Summary: Alec Trevelyan survived the fall. Now he wants revenge.
1. Chapter 1

Co-written with my wonderful girlfriend and little brother.

Contains spoilers to GoldenEye.

I do not own James Bond or any other character associated with him.

* * *

He was falling; falling fast.

Alec Trevelyan saw his life flash before his eyes. He remembered when he had first joined MI6 as a naïve teenager desperate to find meaning to his life. He remembered his first mission where he had almost gotten himself killed. Distant memories of his parents flooded through his mind. His mother's warm smile caused his mouth to form a small smile. He was only a child when his parents died but he felt that they were somehow always with him. They were his guardian angels.

Until today.

Finally he felt a thud.

He screamed at the top of his lungs. He was use to pain but this was a whole different level of pain. He tried to move his head to see his enemy but a lightning bolt of pain stopped him. He screamed again. He was going to have a sore throat when he woke up. That was if he did wake up.

Looking up he saw the satellite dish crumble. An explosion ripped through the complex, weakening the structure further more. His dream of being rich was gone. Now all he wanted was for the pain to end. He heard another explosion as the entire structure began to collapse. Everything seemed to go in slow motion as flaming pieces of debris started to hit the ground. He screamed once again as he felt pain shoot through his right arm. Slowly turning his head, he saw part of the satellite dish had landed on his right arm. If he was going to live after this ordeal, he would have to get it amputated.

Carefully looking around he saw that his luck had finally turned around. All around him there was mangled debris except for where he was. He was in a cocoon but more importantly he was safe. Trevelyan couldn't help but let out a laugh. He was anything but safe. He was in the mangled wreck of a satellite dish with his right arm pinned under it. This was going to be his grave.

Slowly, he let his eye lids close, this was the end.

_'Boss!'_

Trevelyan's eyes shot open. Had he just heard someone calling for him? The fall must have done more damage than he had realised.

_'Boss, can you hear me?'_ said the voice.

He heard is again. It was a man's voice, but he was not familiar with it. Either someone was calling for him or he had damaged a few more brain cells then he would have liked to admit. Then he felt a hand touch his shoulder. He quickly moved his head to see what was going on. He quickly regretted it when he felt his pain cells working in overdrive. But he did catch a quick glimpse of somebody in military fatigues. Was this someone from the British military? Did Bond actually call for backup? No that couldn't have been true; the man had called him 'boss'. Then it dawned on him, this man was probably one of his people.

'Boss I'm going to try and pull you out. Okay?' said the man.

A mumbled 'sure' was all he could muster as he felt somebody pull at his shoulders. He tried to focus on something else besides the pain but to no avail. He couldn't help but let out another scream.

'Can you tell me where it hearts the most?' asked the man as he stopped trying to pull Trevelyan out.

'Ri…ght a…rm…'

'Well it looks like it's pinned under the dish…' began the man.

_Tell me something that I don't know_, he thought to himself.

'… and I think we might have to amputate it.'

Trevelyan knew it was the only way out. He needed the pain to stop. He could live without an arm. 'Do it…' he replied weakly.

'Boss…are…are you sure?'

'Do it.' he said but this time with more authority.

'Okay. Give me a minute.' replied the man as he left his boss to look for supplies. He carefully weaved through the wreckage, looking for something he could use to amputate Trevelyan's arm. After a few minutes of looking, he found a jagged piece of metal that resembled a saw blade. He made his way back to Trevelyan. 'It's going to hurt like hell. Are you sure you want me to do it?' A cold hard stare confirmed that he really wanted him to do it. He took a deep breath as he brought the metal down and began to saw away at his boss's arm.

After what felt like hours of screaming and sawing, Trevelyan finally felt his arm come free. He had went unconscious more than once but Lenny, the man who had helped him, kept waking him up saying that he didn't want him to die. He looked at the place his right arm use to be and was disgusted at what he saw. Before he could make a witty comeback, he felt Lenny help him up. Together they awkwardly limped around the debris and into the surrounding jungle.

'How's the arm?' asked Lenny as he began to set Trevelyan down.

'Hurts.' he answered, sitting on the ground. He touched the stub, flinching in pain. He would have to get it dressed otherwise it might become infected.

'Okay well I'm going to find some supplies so we can get out of the jungle. Okay?'

Trevelyan nodded as he saw Lenny disappear into the foliage. He closed his eyes and rested his head on a tree. Now that the adrenalin rush was over, he could feel pain all over him but it was mostly centered on his right side. Besides the arm, he had broken his right leg in the fall. He took a deep breath of air only to hear a grating sound coming from his chest. He probably fractured a few ribs.

He opened his eyes when he heard someone's voice. At first he thought it was Lenny but when he listened to what they were saying he realised it didn't belong to him. The voice was complaining about somebody by the name of 'Jake Wade'. His training kicked in as he painfully tried to stand up. After two failed attempts he gave up and tried instead to drag himself into the shrub behind him silently screaming in pain. He carefully repositioned himself to see who the voice belonged to and saw two men in military fatigues walking towards the satellite dish. Taking a closer look he saw what looked like the American flag sewn onto the sleeves of their uniforms.

_Marines maybe _he thought.

'Why the hell are we in Cuba anyways? Isn't there like a law that prevents Americans from coming here? And what are we looking for? A secret Russian complex in the middle of the jungle?' said the taller one.

'Just shut up would you. Remember what Wade said? This is an unofficial mission so you better keep quite. And how the hell did you become a marine if the only thing you do is whine?'

'I do not whine!' he protested.

'Whatever you say…'

Alec waited for another five minutes until he was positive that the two marines had passed. Slowly he crawled out of the undergrowth while at the same time trying to suppress a painful moan. Taking a deep breath he tried to focus on what had just happened to him. James Bond had just ruined his carefully thought out plan. Ever since Arkhangelsk nine years ago he had worked on exacting revenge on Britain. Everything had gone according to plan until Bond showed up. Of course being the famous 007, he had ruined everything. Trevelyan began to think about creative ways he could kill Bond. He wanted his death to be slow and painful. A quick bullet through the head was too easy.

'Hey Boss!'

Trevelyan mentally slapped himself for letting his guard down. He watched as Lenny embark from the jeep and run over to him.

'Look what I found.' he said, pointing over to the military style jeep that he had just stolen. 'It was just sitting there waiting to be taken. Okay can you stand up?' he asked. A barely audible 'no' was all he got in reply. 'Okay uh… I'll help you up.' He looped his arm around Trevelyan's chest and tried pulling him into a standing position.

Trevelyan couldn't help but let out a muffled scream when he felt Lenny accidently touch one of his broken ribs.

'Sorry' Lenny said as he half dragged his boss to the waiting jeep. This time he carefully helped him into the seat and even buckling the seat belt. He quickly walked around the jeep to the driver's side and got in. He started the engine and pushed down on the accelerator. Looking over he saw Trevelyan had closed his eyes and seemed to be sleeping. He drove in the direction he came in. He wasn't sure what he was going to do but he was going to do something.

* * *

I'm not a doctor so some information (AKA all) might be incorrect.


	2. Chapter 2

With a flick of a wrist, James Bond threw the knife at the target. He smiled when he heard a squeal from Kelsey, the women he had decided to take home. Apparently knife throwing was the new trend. Walking up to the target, he yanked the knife out of the target and placed it on top of his mahogany dresser.

'Oh James, where did you learn that?' asked Kelsey, running up to Bond and throwing her arms around him. 'I love it!'

'From a friend.' answered Bond as he pulled Kelsey into a romantic kiss. He smelled her strawberry lip gloss as their lips came together.

'James…I love you…' gasped Kelsey as she pulled away for a breath of air.

At that moment Bond heard his phone ring. Sighing he pulled away as he picked up the phone across the room. 'Bond. Okay, I'll be there as soon.' He hung up the phone and looked apologetically, 'I'm sorry, Kelsey but duty calls.'

'Bu-'

'I'm sorry, but I promise I'll make it up to you.' said Bond as he pulled his blazer over his shoulders.

'You didn't even tell me what you do for a living!' exclaimed Kelsey.

'I'll give you a hint, it involves fast cars and beautiful women.' said Bond as he went up to Kelsey and passionately kissed her once again. He then grabbed his car keys and left his apartment. _The things I do for England._ He was not too worried that Kelsey would destroy his living quarters. He guessed that she would stay in is apartment for maybe half an hour hoping that he would return.

He quickly jogged down a flight of stairs and exited the apartment building. Walking over to his Aston Martin DB5, he unlocked the door and slid into the driver's seat. He took a quick whiff of the car's aroma before starting his car. He pulled out of the parking lot and began his drive to Universal Exports. One thing that still mystified him was why the British Secret Service still kept that name. He was almost positive that the majority of his enemies knew that Universal Exports was a cover for MI6. Heck, he was positive that the majority of Britain knew that. He made a mental note to talk with M about the matter.

Stopping at a red light, he looked out the driver side's window to see a wide-eyed little boy staring at his car. He was probably no more than seven and seemed awestruck by the DB5. Bond couldn't blame him; the DB5 was a great looking car. He remembered when Q had first gave it to him he was probably as impressed with it as the boy was. But then he had wrecked it during a car chase. Bond had restored it with his own money and he was glad he did; the DB5 was a beauty.

Raising his right hand, he casually saluted to the boy. The boy obviously had seen the gesture because his eyes darted around and then he quickly took off running, probably in fear. Bond couldn't help but let out a little chuckle. Just because he had killed people, did not mean he didn't have a soft spot for children. Anyways, they were the world's future.

The light turned green as he gunned the DB5. On the phone, Moneypenny did not reveal the reason why M had summoned him to her office. It was protocol not to reveal information about a mission on the phone but Bond always found it a little inconvenient; he wanted to know as much as he could as fast as he could. Anyways he was a control freak. Some said that it was a bad trait yet others said it was a god trait to have. Because he did not know what he was up against, he let his mind wander to the different possibilities. Maybe the bald super villain, Blofeld had resurfaced and had another plot for world domination. The last time he had faced Blofeld, he had pushed him off a helicopter. He could have survived but somehow Bond doubted that; Blofeld was the type of man who wanted to get things out of the way as quick as he could and being inactive for years wasn't his style. He was wheelchair-bound when he had pushed him off the helicopter meaning if he did survive, he would have been severely crippled.

_Maybe the Russians are threatening to start World War Three,_ Bond thought. It had been almost seven years since the dissolution of the Soviet Union and Russia's economy had finally smoothed out. He hadn't been to Russia since the whole GoldenEye incident concluded almost three years ago but he had heard good things. People now called Russia the land of beauty and opportunity. Whether he believed what they said was another story.

Bond took a quick glance at his watch for the date and sighed. In four days' time it would be the third anniversary of the death of his former friend Alec Trevelyan. At one point they were best friends. At another time they were enemies. They had trained together and Bond had trusted his life with him. That was before he had betrayed his country. In MI6 he was now just a faded memory. Not that many people remembered him and those who did chose to forget about him. Even though he had engineered and tried to attack England, his picture was still on the wall of honour. He might have done some bad deeds but he also did many good ones.

Pulling into the underground parking lot, Bond shook his head trying to get the vision of his friend falling to his death out of his head. His job required his mind not to dwell on the people he had killed but to think about how their death affected others.

Alec Trevelyan was no exception.

Bond pulled into a parking spot and got out of his car. He casually strolled towards the elevator and pushed the 'up' button. After waiting for about a minute, the light flashed and the elevator door opened. He took a peek inside to make sure the actual cart was in there. Recently he had read in the news that somebody had fallen to their death because they had not noticed the actual elevator cart was not there. He then entered and pushed the correct floor. Waiting for another minute, he heard a _ding_ and exited the elevator, only to crash into someone.

'Sorry about that.' Bond was about to push past the man but stopped when he saw who he bumped into. 'Tanner!'

'Bond! Long-time no see. How's the Evil Queen of Numbers doing?' asked Bill Tanner, MI6's Chief of Staff.

'Still the same. How's your little girl doing?'

'Growing too fast. She's already in first grade and asking for money.' replied Tanner. 'Hey, I'm free this weekend if you want to go for a round of golf.'

'Sorry but the Queen of Numbers summoned me to her lair.'

'Oh, well good luck.' replied Tanner. 'Call me when you have time.'

'Sure thing.' said Bond as he walked down the hallway towards M's office and entered.

'James!' exclaimed Moneypenny as she saw who had entered.

'Moneypenny, you're looking quite fine today. What's the occasion?' asked Bond as he sat on her desk, looking her in the eye.

She thought for a second about what to say and finally said, 'Do you know Jones from cybercrime?'

Bond scrunched his nose at the mention of Steven Jones. He was a scrawny thirty-something man who kept asking Moneypenny to go out with him. She had persistently told him that she was not interested but he had kept asking. He would stare at her as if he was mentally undressing her. Bond actually wondered if the man ever had a date. Then something dawned on him. 'Please say you did not accept his offer.'

'I'm offended by the fact you even thought that. No, his brother Andy asked me on a date.' answered Moneypenny, grinning. Before she could explain, the buzzer went off and M's voice was on through the speaker.

_'Moneypenny, has 007 arrived?'_ asked M through the intercom.

'Yes he has.'

_'Send him in.'_

Moneypenny motioned towards the door as Bond walked over to it and turned the handle. He again made a face when he saw the porcelain bulldog named Jack. He was almost positive that M kept it around just to annoy him. One day he was going to shoot that dog, if he was in a good mood.

'007, how nice to see you again.' said M, 'Please sit.' As to prove her point she pointed to the two empty chairs in front of her desk.

Bond walked over to the one on the left and sat down. 'What's going on?' he asked.

'We received news from the Russians that someone is planning a terrorist attack against the United Kingdom.' answered M. She observed her agent and saw that he tensed. She didn't blame him; anything involving the wellbeing of Brits was important.

'Is this confirmed?'

'Somewhat. It was confirmed by a man named Viktor Rykov. He said that he overheard a man talking on the phone about a terrorist attack.'

'And you believe him?'

'Yes I do believe him. According the Russians, they had been receiving multiple threats against Britain for the past few weeks,' answered M as she put a folder on her desk, 'and they think it's serious.'

Bond sighed. To him it seemed like a farfetched rumour and he didn't see any point in investigating the claim.

'I know what you are thinking but it is your job to serve and protect.' said M seeing Bond's facial expression. 'I don't care what your gut says; I only care about what the facts say and they say that this is a serious threat.'

Something told him it was all wrong but he just pushed that thought away. It was his job to protect Britain and M was right, he could not endanger the lives of Britain just because his gut told him it was not serious. He reluctantly reached over and took the folder and skimed through it.

'I've arranged you to fly to Moscow in two hours so you can meet Viktor Rykov and the Moscow police. After that, if you still think this isn't serious, you can return home.'

Bond nodded and stood up to exit the office when he heard M say something, he turned around.

'One more thing 007; be careful.'

Bond looked her in the eye, then turned around and left.


	3. Chapter 3

In 1924, a small airfield was built on the outskirts of London. Seventy years later, that tiny airport became London Heathrow Airport. Heathrow was now a major international airport serving London, England. It was located 22 kilometres west of London and was the third busiest airport in the world in terms in total passenger traffic. Only Paris-Charles de Gaulle Airport and Frankfurt airport surpass it. It had a total of five terminals and the airport was the primary hub for British Airways.

Dressed in a comfortable blue slacks, a white cotton dress shirt with a matching blazer, James Bond was reading the newspaper as he waited to board the aircraft. He scanned the newspaper seeing only news about the death of CBS's president Fred Friendly; everything else seemed irrelevant to the company. He set down the newspaper and looked at his ticket and smiled when he saw that Moneypenny had booked him first class.

'_Now boarding British Airways flight 9926 to Moscow at gate 9.'_

Bond looked up to see gate 9 and made his way towards the first class entrance.

'Passport and boarding pass.' said the airline worker.

Bond handed him both. The worker quickly scanned the ticket and returned both articles telling him to go on ahead. He walked onto the aircraft and took a seat in first class. Pulling the folder that M had given him out of his briefcase, he started to read about the alleged terrorist attack.

Bond would have continued to have read if it was not for the captain announcing that they were beginning their decent. He looked at his watch and saw that it said it was about two o'clock. Moscow was ahead of London by 4 hours meaning it was six o'clock local.

He took the folder and returned it to his briefcase. From what he had read somebody had been leaving pamphlets around Russia stating that they were going to blow up an important British monument for the past few weeks. Which monument still remained a mystery. An investigation into the pamphlets did occur but no suspect was identified. The incident was considered a wack job and was buried away until Viktor Rykov came and said he had heard a man talking about a terrorist attack and the investigation was re-opened. Somehow Bond's gut still told him something wrong. He had been trying to figure out why he felt like that but to no avail.

'_Lady and gentlemen we are on final approachto_ Domodedovo International Airport._It 6:08 and we will landing in twenty minutes. The current temperature is 3°C with little sunshine.' _said the captain in a think Russian accent, through the intercom. A moment later he repeated what he had just said in exceptional Russian.

Bond closed his eyes for a second, reflecting on what he had just read. Tomorrow he was going to meet with the Moscow City Police and then Viktor Rykov. After the two meetings, if he still thought it was not a threat, he could go home.

He opened his eyes once again and looked out the window. He should have had something to drink. He could see Moscow as the plane got lower. After around twenty minutes, he felt a rough bump as the aircraft landed. He felt the flaps being deployed as he continued looking at the landscape.

'_Ladies and gentlemen, this is your co-pilot speaking. We have now arrived at _Domodedovo International Airport_. Please stay in your seats until the seatbelt light turns off. Thank you and I hope you enjoyed your flight.' _said the co-pilot in flawless English. A moment later the captain repeated the same thing in Russian.

Gathering all his articles, Bond waited until the aircraft came to a complete stop at the gate then got up. After waiting for another few minutes, the door finally opened and passengers began to file out. He flashed a quick smile to the flight attendant on duty as he walked out. He followed the crowd down an escalator and towards customs. After waiting for another few minutes, he walked up to a customs officer.

'Passport.' barked the customs officer. Bond handed him his passport. 'Business or pleasure?' he asked.

'My business is always pleasure.' answered Bond, trying to be nice to the cranky officer.

The customs officer obviously was confused as he looked up at Bond but he waved him through anyways. Bond continued to follow the crowd towards the luggage carrousel. He found his suitcase in no time and then exited the building, waving down a taxi.

'Where to mister?' asked the taxi driver as he got into the backseat.

'Royal Aurora Hotel.' replied Bond.

'You have good taste mister.'

* * *

The 90 minute car ride to his hotel was not the highlight of his day. The taxi driver was quite chatty and kept trying to engage Bond in a conversation. Topics ranged from Boris Yeltsin, the president of Russia to the winter Olympics a few months ago. Within the first few minutes, Bond tuned the man out trying instead to focus on what he was going to do when he got to the hotel.

When they reached the Royal Aurora Hotel, Bond quickly paid the man and entered the magnificent hotel. The first thing that he noticed was how illuminated the lobby was. The second thing he noticed was the three pillars that held everything I place. He strode over to the main desk to check in. The petite brunette behind the counter was obviously new as she kept asking Bond the same questions and spoke a little too fast to be understood.

After receiving his room key from the brunette, he walked over to the elevators and was pleasantly surprised when he did not have to wait long for it to arrive. He entered the elevator and rode up to the fourth floor. He looked around for any indications of where his room would be and soon found a sign. He followed the sign's directions and soon he had entered his room. He set his luggage down by the doorway and left his brief case on the queen size bed. He walked over to the curtains and opened them exposing a magnificent view. He strained his neck towards the direction he thought was south to get a glimpse of the Red Square but couldn't find it. If his inner compass was correct his room was facing east and that was why he couldn't see the square.

Sighing he turned around and observed his room. He had been to the Royal Aurora Hotel numerous of times and each time the hotel seemed to improve. The rooms were always spotless and the sheets always fresh. The location was also ideal. It was about a half an hour walk to the Red Square, Moscow's heart.

Looking at his watch, Bond decided it was best to order room service. He looked over the menu that had been placed on the desk. He decided to try something new and ended up ordering borscht, a traditional Russian soup with a platter of beef piroshki.

While waiting for room service, he decided to turn on the television. He flipped through the channel and soon found CNN. The top story was about the American president, Bill Clinton trying to pass a law about driving while under the influence of alcohol. Not wanting to hear about that, he changed the channel to a Russian soap opera. He was barely paying attention to the program when he heard a knock on the door. Looking through the eye-hole he saw a young man in a hotel uniform pushing a food cart. He undid the chain to let the employee in. Bond's Russian was rusty at the best so when the employee said something in Russian all he could do was try to hide his embarrassment. The young employee quickly noticed that Bond didn't speak Russian and he switched to broken English.

Bond quickly signed for the meal wanting to prevent further embarrassment. Once the man had left, he began to eat the meal. He had travelled to Russia multiple times before but he had never been that adventurous in his food choices. The soup tasted different but he still enjoyed it. Taking a bite out of a piroshki, he had to admit he liked the taste as well. Finishing up his meal, he put the dishes out on the hallway for room service to take.

Glancing at the digital clock onto of the end table he saw that it was a little after nine. He walked over to his briefcase and pulled out the report, deciding to read over it once more. Again he felt his sixth-sense, the sense that kept him alive, tingle. Something wasn't right about.

* * *

Most people that first met Detective Dmitry Pokrovsky always commented to each other about how he looked like stereotypical Russian. Pokrovsky  
couldn't really blame them; even his son commented about his looks. It was something that he had gotten use to. At aged 47, he had grown up in the Soviet Union. During the last years of school, he had decided a life spying was meant for him. In 1969 he had joined the KGB. Already a star wrestler, he quickly impressed his superiors and soon became a commissioned spy. He had spied for his country until the collapse of the Soviet Union seven years ago. Out of work and having a to support a small family, Pokrovsky decided to take a job with the Moscow Police. Now he was known as 'The Russian', for his blunt attitude and love of vodka, he always kept a bottle in his desk saying that he did not know when he felt like having a drink.

Excusing himself for a smoking break, Pokrovsky exited the station through the backdoor. Taking a cigarette, he lit it and breathed in the smoke. Slowly exhaling, he let out a thin cloud of smoke. He walked over to a payphone and dialled the number that he was almost too familiar with.

_'Who is it?' _said the voice on the other end in Russian.

'It's me. He's coming in to meet me today.' replied Pokrovsky in Russian.

_'This is important so don't mess this up.'_

'I won't sir.' he said. Hearing the dial tone, he knew the man had hung up. Discarding his cigarette, he walked back into the station, thinking about what he had gotten himself into. He was approached by a man a couple of months ago about a deal that would pay him three million rubles which was equivalent to about one hundred thousand dollars American. All he would have to do was take a case and lie about his findings. He didn't think that it was too hard so he had accepted. It wasn't that he didn't care about his job, he just wanted to have enough money for his son's tuition costs. The boy was going to college next year and providing for him was now his main focus.

The case that he was suppose to take was about somebody leaving pamphlets around the city saying that they were going to blow up an important British monument. He had almost laughed when he was given this information. This job was going to be a quick paycheck. A few days ago he had received a phone call from the man saying that a British secret agent was going to be coming over to talk about the matter. At first he was worried but he quickly calmed himself down. He had been top of his class during his years in the KGB. One little meeting with a British spy wouldn't make a huge deal.

Sitting back down on his horribly messy desk, he grabbed one of the folders in his 'in' box. Opening it up, he saw a picture of a young girl, probably no more than sixteen, dead. She had been shot twice through the chest. Skimming through the report he learned that she was a teenage runaway who made a living selling her body. No one even knew her full name. She was just one of the many invisible homeless people. He knew from experience that her killer would probably never be brought to justice. The girl's beautiful bright blue eyes would just be another case number; her story forgotten.

Pokrovsky closed the file and shook his head, trying to get the girl's face out of his mind. Whenever he got a case regarding a youngster, his mind would always say what if the victim was his son. In someways it helped motivate him to catch the killer but most of the time it caused him to worry about his son. His wife just dismissed him as being paranoid but he would always lecture his son about being safe on the streets.

His phone ringing brought his mind back to focus. 'Detective Pokrovsky,' he said into the phone.

_'Detective, we have a Mr James Bond from Universal Exports here to see you. Do you want to see him?'_

'That be great.' Pokrovsky said. He hung up the phone and took a deep breath. Universal Exports he knew was the front for the British secret service. That was something he had learned a long time ago. He was surprised that they kept the name, he would have thought they'd changed it by now.

'Detective Pokrovsky?' asked a voice in English.

Pokrovsky looked up and saw a dark-haired man, standing in front of his desk. 'Yes that would be me.' he quickly stood up, 'And you are...'

'James Bond, Universal Exports.' replied the man offering him a hand.

Pokrovsky shook Bond's hand and asked, 'How may I help you?' He sized his opponent up. He looked to be a few years younger than himself and also a few inches taller. His combed back hair and suit suggested he cared about his appearance.

'I am here concerning a case involving pamphlets that were left around the city and I was told you were the man in charge of the case.'

'Well I am in charge but why do you need to know about it?'

'One of our clients, he owns many major monuments, heard about this and he wanted to learn more about it.'

_Guy's a pro, _he thought to himself. 'I see how it could be important. What information do you need?'

'The case file would be great.'

'Okay let me find it...' Organization was one skill that Pokrovsky still hadn't mastered. His desk was cluttered with files and reports. Looking around, it was quite obvious that he had the messiest desk. He always told himself that he would clean it up but never actually got to it. Pushing the report of the teenage runaway to the side, he dug through the papers until he finally saw what he was looking for. 'Here you go.' he said as he handed the folder to Bond.

'No fingerprints were found?' asked Bond, still reading through the folder.

'No.'

'Were any suspect identified?'

'No.'

Bond paused and looked up, 'In your opinion, is this serious?'

'Yes, I think it is a serious threat. No fingerprints were found meaning the person didn't want to be found. If it was a fake threat the person would have wanted to be found.' said Pokrovsky after taking a few moments to consider how to word his answer.

'How long have you been KGB?' asked Bond, arching his eyebrow.

'How long have you been with MI6?' he countered, 'If that is all, I have a murder of a teenage runaway to solve.'

'One more thing, can I get a copy of this?' asked Bond holding up the file.

'Sure, follow me.' Pokrovsky stood up and walked over to the photocopier. Taking the file, he quickly made a photocopy. 'Is that all?'

'I believe so.' replied Bond. The two quickly shook hands and Bond left the station.

Pokrovsky sat back at his desk. He grabbed the file about the runaway and looked it over once more. Scribbling a address down, he put on his coat and left the station. Starting the car, he left for the address he had wrote down from the report.

* * *

I've never been to Moscow so please don't blame me if I messed it up.


End file.
